Part 1: The Five Treasures of Wing Tsun

There are aspects of Wing Tsun that remain largely unknown, even among long-term practitioners. These elements—known as the Five Treasures—represent some of the highest levels of refinement in the art. Their relative obscurity is not surprising when you reflect on it. While Wing Tsun has spread across the world with millions learning, the number of people who truly master it remains extraordinarily small.

If we consider general martial arts statistics—drawn from observation and decades of experience:

Only 1–5% of students reach black belt level.
Of those, perhaps 10–20% progress to second-degree black belt.
And of those, only around 1% ever reach Master level.

This natural bottleneck in progression means that some elements of the art become widely known, while others remain the domain of only a few.

The Five Treasures

Taught to me by Grandmaster Máday Norbert, the Five Treasures describe the pinnacle elements of Wing Tsun that represent not only technical advancement, but profound internal refinement. While individual schools may vary in emphasis, these treasures come from deep lineage transmission.

Wooden Dummy Chi Sau – The highest form of sticky hands, integrating adaptability, full-body coordination and Chi Gerk (sticking legs).
Bart Cham Dao – The eight cutting swords, requiring exquisite coordination, structural alignment, and internal control.
Long Pole Form – The six-and-a-half-point pole form, teaching the essential motions and steps to use the long pole effortlessly and effectively.
Saam Sing Chong – The ‘Three Stars Dummy,’ which develops high-level kicking combinations, dynamic footwork and balance.
108-Point Chi Gung Siu Nim Tao – A health-focused version of the first form, created by Dr Leung Jan for a sick student named Au Hong, embedding internal energy, breath work, and meditative focus into precise movement.

I’m fortunate to have senior students who have learnt these Treasures from me—and I’m always looking for the next generation to pass them on to. So, if you’re interested in going deep into your Wing Tsun journey—not just to train, but to transform—come and visit us.

The Tension Between Commercialisation and Gatekeeping

However, there’s a challenge we must be aware of when looking at this ‘bottleneck’ of knowledge. The modern world has commercialised and globalised martial arts, making knowledge more accessible than ever. But it also brings its own challanges.

On one side, we have McDojos—schools that exist solely for commercial gain, prioritising student retention and maximising profit per student over true skill development. They hand out belts and titles without depth, diluting the art until it becomes meaningless.

To be clear, there is nothing inherently wrong with training casually or commercially. There is significant value in community, movement, and confidence-building. But when profit supersedes principle, it becomes damaging to the deeper purpose of the art.

On the other extreme, we see monopolisation—where knowledge is restricted to a select few, locked away and passed on only through rigid hierarchies. I’ve seen this first-hand in organisations I was part of. This gatekeeping often isn’t done to preserve the art—it’s done to preserve power. It was one of the main reasons I filmed my online course, and founded Kwoon, to help share and preserve wisdom from around the world.

Both extremes are equally fatal to the art—and have deep, lasting consequences for students. If you commercialise too much, the art loses depth. If you restrict too much, the art dies out completely.

The Master’s Dilemma

Wing Tsun is progressive by nature. Each skill builds on the last. For example, the first form—Siu Nim Tao—teaches you how to stand, how to separate your nervous system, and the basic structures of movement. The second form—Chum Kiu—adds stepping, turning, kicking, and combinations.

So the master is presented with a conundrum:

Teach too early, and the knowledge becomes meaningless, because it can’t be applied. Worse still, it undermines the student’s entire development by prioritising accumulation over depth.
Don’t teach, and the knowledge risks dying with the last practitioner.

This is the creative tension every teacher must wrestle with—and it’s not an easy task. The Shaolin Temple found a solution to this dilemma, keeping its tradition alive for over 1,500 years by following the middle way in teaching. They saw the bigger picture. They knew when to guide the student forward and when to help them go deeper. There is never value in rushing—but equally, inaction has its cost.

There is also another truth that’s rarely spoken about:

The master needs the student to become as good as possible.

It holds back the master’s own level if they don’t. Teaching is one of the fastest ways to develop yourself—through seeing your blind spots, refining your own understanding, and articulating principles in unexpected ways under pressure.

There’s another dimension to this too:

Knowledge alone means nothing.

It must be embodied. It must walk with you. It must change how you move, how you think, and how you see the world. Especially in Wing Tsun—where learning more before you are ready can actually be dangerous.

It is better to be proficient in the basics than overwhelmed with material you can’t execute. A split second in combat can be the difference between life and death. That’s why the system is progressive: each layer only makes sense once the previous one is stable.

So if we are to preserve Wing Tsun in its full depth, we must ask:

How do we ensure students progress correctly—without gatekeeping or stagnation?